


Written in Heart and Heat Signs

by karrenia_rune



Category: Marvel 1602, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Marvel Universe Big Bang, Rivalry, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: It's almost the turn of the century and X-Factor Investigations have escaped from the Virginia Commonwealth and rebuilt their private detective agency with a quiet but quite respectable reputation while at the same time staying out of larger conflicts in the Colonies.They soon learn that they are not the only displaced Witch Breed who have come to this new land seeking a fresh start. A rival and well-heeled group that cling to the old societal mores strive to acquire power and profit threaten everything and X-Factor must rise to the challenge before its too late.





	Written in Heart and Heat Signs

Disclaimer: X-Factor comics and the Marvel 1602 verse are the original creations of Marvel Comics. The characters who appear here are mentioned are not mine and are only ‘borrowed’ for the purposes of the story, also the ‘names’ of the characters such as Lionel for Longshot, etc are modified to suit the time-frame. 

For the 2017 Marvel Big Bang

Note: This is continuation to my previous story I wrote for the 2013 Marvel Big Bang “A Semi-Charmed Life.” Stories in order: "Blessings and Curses, 2. A Semi-Charmed Life".

With much gratitude to my beta Lore whose suggestions and read on this was invaluable.

Notes: A bit loose in terms of the actual historical time-line for the Marvel 1602 verse and the Hellfire Club introduction into that AU verse. 

"Written in Heart and Heat Signs" by Karrenia

The mingled aroma of grease, oil, tobacco smoke, sweat and smoke combined to give the room secreted behind the club the look and feel of a sweat shop. 

The effect was only slightly enhanced by slightly sweet and more pleasant aroma of expensive European cologne and whiskey. The bottles lay uncorked and consumed to just about a thimble-full. 

The man bent over a cluttered table tinkering with an assortment of gears, pulleys, and mechanical devices. 

Leaning up against the wall was a two meter cylinder containing a bluish-gray liquid that gave off a noxious odor and bubbled like swamp gas. His name was Donald Pierce.

His blonde hair was in disarray and the dirt gathered underneath his fingernails and sweat made his ruggedly handsome but cruel features glisten.

He had the narrow tapered fingers of a musician or a surgeon, but according to the reputation acquired both abroad in the Old Country and here in the Colonies,; those delicate fingers had killed many men and women.

Donald Pierce was the Club's innovator and experimenter. He had studied the works of the Italian's Da Vinci's diagrams for flying contraptions, automatons and figured he could not only understand them but improve upon.

Within the club proper the remaining members of his inner circle of friends and associates were busily engaged in rubbing elbows with the Boston Colony primary movers and shakers. 

Gathered tonight were those who had become wealthy from various trades, some were those who made policy and governed the colonies; others simply had aspirations of doing all the above in various permutations.

That there was agitation among those who had emigrated from Europe from England against King George was no secret. 

The rumblings had been going on for a long time, a very long time. Perhaps ever since his majesty had begun to increase the taxes and tariffs on goods to levels that some referred to as cruel and unusual punishment.

The grand master of ceremonies, Sebastian Shaw, a dignified man in his late 40's or 50's; it was often difficult to tell. He was one of those rare individuals whose appearance often defied age: He was tall, well-built, his dark hair still black but only gradually streaked with gray; his son, Shinobi, had just turned eighteen.

Shaw had power, wealth, and a different kind of power that could be traced back to the Witch Breed who had come here fleeing the fear and misunderstanding in the Old Country. 

In the back of his mind, Sebastian Shaw thought: ‘There are all kinds of power, my friends, some obvious some less so, but make no mistake power is power and I mean to control it all.'

To his left was Harry Leland, and to his right, Jason Wyngarde. Leland fancied himself the consummate gentleman, older, ruddier and with a penchant for fine food, fine wine and beautiful women. However, of late he looked as if all of those things were catching up with him around the waistline.

Normally Shaw would have found Leland’s vices distasteful, but the man had his uses and his ability to manipulate gravitational forces as well as depleting or accelerating the density and mass around other objects or persons was a useful skill. Also, Leland's loyalty to both the Hellfire Club and Shaw as leader was solid.

Wyngarde was loyal but the only the shallow allegiance of kind of a wolf that obeyed and followed the alpha male because he coveted his position. 'Yes,' thought Shaw,' Jason will bear close scrutiny.'

Shaw turned at the entrance of a woman dressed all in white: 

Emma Frost, also known among the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club as the White Queen.  
She did love making dramatic entrances as well. Clad in her customary white fish-net tights bleached bone-white as an ivory; her blonde hair was done up in an elaborate style held in place with razor-sharp pins. The white lace bustier had glints of crushed diamond in it. 

Emma was many things and ever since he had met her he had once made the mistake of underestimating her because of her sex. It had cost him dearly; in more ways than one. 

He had vowed to never make the same mistake again. Emma had managed to rise to a position of both power and influence and considerable wealth within the Inner Circle. 

Shaw also had sworn to never under-estimate the keenness off her mind. Emma was a telepath; and a beautiful woman. Shaw approached her, bowing at the waist and gallantly kissing her hand. “Emma, my dear, You look ravishing.”

Emma acknowledged his gesture with a slight dip of her head. “You look ravishing, too. Shaw” she paused and her lips quirked in a wry grin. In the sense of pirates on the high seas.”

“How’s that, now?” Leland blustered. “No one’s calling me out for my dealings with that rake, Sir Francis Drake, are they? Pass the port, would you?”

“No one is doing any such thing, Harry,” Wyngarde mildly chided the big man. “Here, drink up,” he added as he poured Leland a glass of port and handed it over and then placed both bottle and decanter on a marble-topped end-table with lion-faced legs carved in ivory.

“Where’s Pierce?” Wyngarde asked. 

“He’s in his lab,” Shaw replied. 

“What the devil!” Leland exclaimed with some heat, adding, “Seems to me that as vital as he concoction and tinkering and experiments are to our cause, it simply does not bear that the man cannot leave off and attend these bloody meetings.”

 

“You know that Pierce had more than a passing interest in alchemy, Harry. And you know how driven he can be when he sets his mind on something, especially since he ah, lost his hand.”

“Bloody shame about that,” Wyngarde spoke up. “I only served in arms briefly because my father believed it was a family tradition. I cannot imagine what that must feel like.”

”What does he think to do, make himself a mechanical hand?” Shaw asked.

“Possibly, he’s had some success with the automated early-warning system, so, “why not?” She shrugged.

“All right, enough of this. Back to business,"Shaw said. “I’ve just returned from Boston and the mood there is restless. It could reach the tipping point any day now.”

“Many of our contacts and agents in the other colonies are also restless. The Crown of England reaches out lay its heavy hand on everything we built up here; it’s only a matter of time before the match is lit,” Leland said.

“Do we want to start a war?” Wyngarde asked.

"War is good for business, in the sense that we can always supply the eventual victor and the eventual defeated." She smiled, "All the while turning a hefty profit. Wouldn't you agree, my friends?"

“We may not have, too, Mister Wyngarde. In fact, war may come to these shores sooner rather than later. And it will provide a useful distraction for our endeavors in adding more Witch Breed to our ranks.’

“Speaking of which; what of the girl we’ve heard about?” Leland asked. 

“Which girl would that be, Harry? One of your conquests?” Wyngarde snidely shot at Leland.

“No, the one that has the ability to turn sound into light energy,” Leland replied, apparently either he chose to ignore the innuendo or was deaf to it.

“Hmm, intriguing. I think I shall personally oversee that a retrieval squad is sent out to collect our young chanteuse.”

"Of course, Emma," Sebastian said as he smiled around at the group as if he  
were a sun they all orbited around and he was doing them a grand favor by deigning to share its warmth with them.  
_

Meanwhile

Jamie Madrox sat behind his brand new desk in the offices of the new X-Factor Investigations headquarters in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. He'd acquired the desk at an auction and he loved it because not only did look elegant, it also boasted many hidden drawers and compartments.

It had most likely belonged to some Spanish captain defeated by Sir Francis Drake who had captured and commandeered all the valuables aboard, but had somehow this desk had survived. 

It was a good thing that it had because Jamie had sanded it, buffed it, and now it was his. He loved the way it caught the light, the way the watery shimmer of the setting sun off the Boston Harbor streamed in through the tall windows and gave the air both outside and insider a soft, mellow, buttery quality.

As an aspiring private detective offices went, one desk, two filing cabinets and couch and chairs for potential clients as well as end table for pouring drinks; it was not much of an office, but it was theirs. 

He sat with his feet up on his beloved desk, long legs spread out before him and his hands lanced behind his head, thinking about the future of his team. 

As uncertain as everything seemed to be here in the Colonies; a little sense of stability went a long way. And he was glad that they finally had a place to call their own. 

 

Shatterstar and Julian Richter came into the office from the upper floor dressed to go out on the town.

"Where do you think you're going?”

"Out," replied Shatterstar, laconic as always.

"Out on the town. We've been invited to a dance hall." Richter apparently the one who seemed to understand all things that related to Shatterstar. How did that happen? Jamie wondered. 

"Keep a low profile," cautioned Madrox.

"Of course," Julian yelled back over his shoulder right before the front door swung to. 

*****

Jamie leaned back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers on his temples attempting to stave off what felt like an impending tension headache. 

He knew that the two of them could take care of themselves, but unless he was gravely mistaken; sometimes it did seem that trouble seemed to find them; much like a compass needle found magnetic north.

At that moment Layla Miller came in with a cup of steaming tea.

Jamie looked up, "Is that Earl-Grey?"

"Would I bring you any other kind?" she asked.

"Hmm," Jamie sighed. "I've heard that before." Nodding gratefully as she placed the battered but still quite beautiful silver-chased tea-set down on its matching platter, he waited until it was cool enough to drink.

He may have been eccentric but he still was not reconciled to the diversion of burning one's palate. 

 

Today she wore her blonde hair up in a loose bun as much as to keep the hair off of her neck but also to keep cool. The air outside Factor-X Office of Special Investigations was warm, but not uncomfortably so. 

Outside, was an entirely different story. It was hot, very hot, as Gideon Carrosella had put it "It's anyone's guess when the rains we're all praying for will come back and the Devil's hedging his bets." 

Just before the team had been forced to find a new place to establish themselves Gideon had come to the rescue of chanteuse named Lila Cheney, who was the ward of a man who been pulling at their strings from both ends. 

Before they team had even met Lila's guardian had taken money to guarantee safe passage from England to the new American colonies from Theresa Cassidy's father. 

Her father’s associate sold them out to a nascent group who had captured and tried to kill several of their team members.

While the existence of 'the witch breed' as they were referred to: those born with uncanny and paranormal abilities had been referred to back in the Old World; had always been a closely guarded secret in England, elsewhere on the European continent, rumors abounded. 

As did the fear and sometimes hatred of normal humans when confronted with those who were different or with change. As Witch-breed they were epitomes of change. 

Jamie and the rest of his friends had thought that by coming to the American Colonies they could escape from such narrow-mindless and perhaps those attendant dangers as well.

He had not counted on the fact that there might be more Witch-Breed out there who had similar plans. "You're brooding." 

"I am not. You know, sometimes worrying is called planning," he replied.

"Everyone's got tells. Yours is when you start worrying, your nose twitches and you get, Layla added as she inched closer to him until she was sitting on his lap, and then twisted around and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jamie got hot all of a sudden and not just because of the stifling air and the warm breeze coming in through the half-open windows.

“You get that most adorable crease right 'here,’” she said, tweaking his nose as she did so.

"Great, remind me never to play euchre with you."

"Don't worry so much. It will all work out." 

"How do you know that?" he demanded hoping it did not come out sounding as peevish as he felt certain it did.

"No, I 'know' things,' Layla remarked as casually as if she were inquiring if we wanted one lump of sugar in his tea or two. 

She sat down on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs; an arch look in her bright blue eyes that was equal parts challenge and nonchalance; as if daring him to contradict her assertion.

"I know you do, darling," Jamie replied more confidently, adding, and I know you know things; however, I shall beg your pardon if I'm still a little skeptical."

"Have you ever tried that stuff Monet brought back from Boston?" she asked.

"No," he replied, but she did mention that there has been increasing agitation in The Massachusetts Bay Colony because the King of England putting higher lives on their tea.” 

"Good Old George isn't as popular as he once was, but I don't see how that's any concern of ours," she stated.

"Was he ever. But we're well rid of all that rot and nonsense," he replied.

"Unless you're considering buying stock in the trading companies.?" she inquired. It might not be a bad idea because the bottom is dropping out and sooner or later that valuable commodity is going get..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Tea."

"Oh, no I don't care about tea, it's that I've got this itch. I can't explain it, but I've got a bad feeling that something really terrible is looming on the horizon."

"Move around here, and I'll scratch it for you, and then afterward I'll fill up a tub from our supply... and find other things to do to you." she replied in a throaty murmur.

Jamie blushed and then swallowed. "Not that kind of itch,; not that I would not be averse to ah,..." He then began drumming the fingers of his left hand against his legs. "I mean, I've got this sense that as much as we've been trying to stay out of the major events eddying around that we're about to be pulled into the undertow."

She looked up at him and the playfulness was gone as suddenly as a bank of clouds swallowing up the sunshine. "Well, Jamie, at the very least it will be interesting, and remember that everybody on the team knows how to swim."

He pinched his own nose and the tension head-ache that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness had now moved from a dull throb to a full-blown hammer-blows on the inside of his skull. "Layla, I love you, but could you be any more cryptic?"

Layla Miller, his, other half, No, he shook his head, that was too melodramatic and freighted with meaning and emotional layers that, In the back of his mind Jamie thought, ‘Let’s face it; you never were any good at the heavy emotional stuff. So, so she saved your life, once or twice; if memory serves. So, she got into your life, all our lives, bully for you! 

She sighed. "All I'm saying is. when you're right, you're right. But, hey, it'll be fun."

Jamie Madrox sigh a few heartbeats later was one of mingled resignation and exasperation. "Famous last words."

Interlude 

The recital hall was nestled within the basement of local church and which the owners had spare no expense to make both the audience and the performers forget it had ever been a barn. 

The walls were freshly scrubbed white-wash, the stage which was a raised platform at least the length of of the far end of the room, flush with the wood-paneled walls and hung with burgundy drapes.

When the Julian and Shatterstar arrived it appeared that all of the closest to the stage had already attended a performance at a recital hall featuring an up and coming starlet named Alison Blaire.

A man wearing a black suit with tails and holding a lion-headed cane strode out onto the stage. "Welcome, welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen to the First and what well here hope will be many more to come, of the Massachusetts Chorale Revue!"

Cheers and clapping ensued. "You are in for a treat! So, I am sure you all are anxious for the main event. So, without further ado, I give you, the One, the Only, the Dazzler!"

The crowd, elbowing for favorable position, making small talk about common friends, families; planting season, or even here and there, rumblings of discontent with King George's less popular edicts on the colonists in Boston and elsewhere; went silent as if a cloak of silence had been draped over all of them.

 

The girl on the stage was beautiful; long blonde hair which had been artfully disarranged onto her bare shoulders. She wore a platinum dress that came down to her shins and she walked across that stage as if she owned it. 

Then in the midst of that uncanny hush she began to sing, and as if the light in the room all obeyed her will all of the light and eyes were drawn to her like the lowly proverbial moth to a candle flame.

It left the remainder of the room in half-shadow but no one seemed to care. 

She opened with familiar numbers from the Book of Psalms, ones that the majority in the crowd contented themselves with murmurings along the words to them.

Such as "Lavender Blue." a traditional Scotch-Irish number.

_""Lavender's blue, diddle diddle_  
Lavender's green,  
When I am king, diddle diddle  
You shall be queen. 

_Lavender's green, diddle diddle_  
Lavender's blue,  
You must love me, diddle diddle  
'Cause I love you. 

_A brisk young man, diddle diddle_  
Met with a maid,  
And laid her down, diddle diddle  
Under the shade. 

_Lavender's blue, diddle diddle_  
Lavender's green,  
Let me be king, diddle diddle  
You be the queen. 

_Lavender's green, diddle diddle_  
Lavender's blue,  
You must love me, diddle diddle  
'Cause I love you."" 

There were several more numbers after that, some familiar some not; and quite a few that neither Julian nor Shatterstar had ever heard before; but that was hardly surprising.

During this song Shatterstar nudged Julian and whispered into his ear that he could have sworn that the iridescent halo-like effect was emanating from the girl on stage. Of Course, Star' being who he was his whisper was less of a whisper than a very soft roar. It was fortunate that no one seemed to notice the social fax pas, Julian thought.  
At the intermission no one seemed to notice that half a dozen purple clad men wearing white masks with hoods up over their faces had slipped into the audience, waiting for the right opportunity to make their move.

Their orders were to snatch Miss Blaire and get out with no one the wiser. If it was necessary to blow their cover their orders were to disarm but not to use lethal force.

Finally Alison Blaire got ready to launch into her closing number.

_“""Twas in the merry month of May_  
When green buds all were swelling,  
Sweet William on his death bed lay  
For love of Barbara Allen.  
He sent his servant to the town  
To the place where she was dwelling,  
Saying you must come, to my master dear  
If your name be Barbara Allen.  
So slowly, slowly she got up  
And slowly she drew nigh him,  
And the only words to him did say  
Young man I think you're dying.  
He turned his face unto the wall  
And death was in him welling,  
Good-bye, good-bye, to my friends all  
Be good to Barbara Allen.”” 

***

Just as she came onto the stage for her last set, but she never got the chance

The kerosene lanterns over an alley entrance were knocked out of their sockets scattering the floor of the church basement with hot oil. The dry wood immediately caught fire, and finding more fuel to burn, quickly spread.

"What's happening" one person in the audience yelled, and the cry was quickly taken up by many others.

"Fire!" the cry sent the crowd in a mass rush for the nearest exits; which caused the mass of humanity to create a bottle-neck as they pushed, shoved and elbowed each other of the way in order to escape.

Blaire, angry that her thunder had been stolen, cried out. "Would someone please get this situation under control! The only fireworks that should be going on here are mine!" She blushed. "I mean.. You know what they say? The show must go on!"

That was when she felt a pair of hands grab her from behind and she whirled around to come face to face with a pair of ivory-masked men.

More angry than startled Blaire was about to let know them in no uncertain terms what she thought about party-crashers when the masked men were lifted off their feet and tossed into the now vacant seating-area.

"What the hell?" she demanded.

Shatterstar whacked three of her attackers with the pommels of his swords, knocking their weapons out of their hands and then following through with ringing kibosh. 

Shatterstar offered her a brief nod. "Ma'am, we are here to rescue you."

"Rescue Me?" she queried. "Who's we?" And what's up with the swords?"

"Yes," replied Shatterstar is his customary and formal manner. "As to your other questions," Well, all in due time."

"I…..I don't know about this," she hesitated. "Who are you?"

"My associate over there," he stretched out his white leather-clad arm to a shorter man with cinnamon-colored skin.

"Okay, I think so. It certainly beats sticking around here. It's too bad, I really did like the way they did up this place," she added wistfully.

"We will take you back to our office. You will be safe there," added the dark-haired man as he came up to them and leaped up onto the stage. 

"The fire is spreading quickly. We won't be able to get out the way we came.."

"Unless you blast us a way out," Shatterstar offered.

"Are you effing kidding me, Star! Even if I could do that, it might bring the entire building down around our heads! Madre de Dios!"

"There is no time like the present to find out," said Shatterstar with infuriating equanimity.

Julian sighed, he usually enjoyed being in a relationship with the sword-fighting mercenary but this was one of those times when the man's bizarre combination of nonchalant practicality and weirdness simply drove him crazy. Still, he was right about one thing they were rapidly running out of time and options.

They jumped down from the stage, pulling the collars of their shirts up around their mouths to try and prevent inhaling the acrid smoke, and with Alison in tow,; all three of them pushed towards the now-partially blocked door.

Julian concentrated and let loose with a bolt of green-tinged power; it took several attempts but at last had blasted a hole big enough for all three of them to slip out of it.

"Let's go home!" he cried as Shatterstar pumped his fist and then left the burning ruin behind them.

****  
Back at X-Factor Inc. Offices

 

"Hey, hey, Madrox, you in there?" a vaguely familiar voice called from the entryway of the front office.

 

He had pulled a card table into the middle of the room and now sat around it playing a game of euchre with the rest of the team. Monet was drinking wine, the rest had cups of coffee. Gideon took a sip from his coffee cup and asked, “Had a good time, boys? We can always deal you in.”

“Not now,” Shatterstar replied.

“Who’s your friend?” Lionel asked.

“Yeah, sure, but I need to speak to the boss,” replied Julian.

"What are you doing back here? Jamie demanded, not at all happy about being woken up even before the first rays of the morning sun had begun to make the alchemical change from the inky black of night to the first pinkish tones of the new day.

"Now, now, Madrox, let's now blow our stacks." I need to ask you for a favor."

“Maybe now, isn’t this best time,” Alison offered. 

“Don’t worry, Madrox is just blowing off steam. He’ll come around.” Julian hastened to reassure the blonde singer.

"Do tell," Madrox snarled. He had not realized he still held onto that kind anger. "You leave us, you don't write, you don't call, and then you think you can just waltz in here..." he trailed off, as Layla put a calming hand on his arm.

“And as for your Gideon, we’re not done, yet.” “Yeah, sure, sure. When you’re right, you’re right.”

Gideon thumped himself on his barrel-chest with the heel of his hand and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Oh, my apologizes, Miss Blaire, where are my manners? Guys, this is Alison Blaire."

"Pleased to meet you," Jamie Maddrox grumbled, getting up to shake her hand and introduce the rest of the team,, Monet St. Croix, Theresa Cassidy, Layla Miller, and over there is Longshot."

Lionel took one look at Alison Blaire and was instantly smitten. He simply was smitten; there was no other possible way of describing it. He completely forget about the card game, forgot almost even to breathe.

While Lionel considered himself too much of a gentlemen to make an outward show of it, and with enough male pride not to fall all over himself to do or say anything foolish; he bowed, "Welcome to X-Factor, Miss Blaire. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

For her part Alison was a little overwhelmed. She had just begun her singing and performing on stage career, and was had become accustomed to the admiring glances of young men; so she shook his hand and replied in kind; but she could not help noticing the intensity with which he took her in.

"Ah, yes, quite," she said and withdrew to stand beside Gideon once more.

"Maddrox, perhaps we should hear Gideon out," Monet added.

"I concur," Lionel added.

"Why?" Jamie demanded crossing his arms over his chest.

Lionel paused but not as if were disconcerted by his boss's demeanor, but only because he mulling things over: "Because Miss Blaire has confirmed that the style, dress and mods operand of her assailants matches almost to a tee those who accosted us in Virginia."

"It's true,” Alison confirmed.

Julian Richter sighed and said, "I can vouch for that, but on the bright side, at least they didn't use formaldehyde or whatever that nasty gas was they used on us the last time."

"Before you get mad about my leaving the team ah, so abruptly, just now I had my reasons, good reasons. And ah, some of them have to do with this girl...”

“Not now, Gideon,” Madrox said.

"I suggest we formulate a plan of attack," Monet said. "I could do a mental scan..."

"You're a mind-reader?" Allison asked not without some trepidation.

"I am," Monet replied with quite assurance.

“Right then. Uh, what do I do?” Alison asked.

"Then let's start. As I mentioned already, if we are indeed dealing with the same villains who attacked us in Virginia, we should try to find out much as we can before we charge in blind.”

"Oh, I don't know. I was going for the plan that called for 'guns blazing and making it up as I went along." Jamie shrugged.

"That's not a plan," Monet replied with more than a little sarcasm."That's called suicide and I plan to live much longer than just tonight."

"I vote for a plan," Lionel added.

"Me, too!" Theresa added, "There's no sense in flying off the handle."

Jamie sighed. "Oh, okay, if anyone has any brilliant ideas now would be a good time to speak up.”

"Monet, you said you said you could read minds?"

"I did."

"Then read mine. If I targeted by those masked goons, I want to know why, and I want to know who sent them,” Alison said.

“Yes, I mean, are you sure about this?” Julian asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Alison replied with a shaky smile.

"Good idea, they might have my attackers left any clue to their identity or whereabouts it might be a place to start at least," Monet added. 

“Have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Monet said to Alison.

"Wait, wait, Jamie cried. I did not sign off on this!"

"Compose your thoughts and think back to the previous night, what you saw, heard, or even smelled, and concentrate," Monet addressed Allison.

Jamie, griped: "I swear, sometimes leading this team is akin to herding cats."

Monet placed the tips of her slender fingers on either side of Allison's head and concentrated on looking within, trying not to unduly put pressure on the girl, either physical or mental. 

Within the landscape of the mind she felt as though she were falling forward, like diving into a deep pool. Then Monet began to 'view' saw images of the performance at the Boston Concert Hall, the crowd, the fancy dresses, and looked harder for the scene of the attack.

She saw a dozen masked figures all dressed alike in red and purple with ivory masks, and all them bore dozens of varying types of fire-arms and clipped to their belts where one would except to carry additional ammunition, instead were a handful of small cylindrical capsules.

 

Monet saw the panic and fear of the crowd as they scattered at the instants the first shots were fired, she saw as her friends and teammates Julian and Shatterstar rushed to Miss Blaire's aid.

But it was the last detail as sudden as a swimmer out deep in a cold sea felt the pull of the shark beneath him, that struck out at her. On their sleeves of their uniforms was a symbol: a stark red, orange and black lettering HFC. "

Monet gently severed their connection and stood back, breathing slowly for a bit, before replying. "I believe I now know who we're dealing with."

"Well?" Theresa asked.

"The Hellfire Club, or least the New World branch of it."

"And they are?" Madrox asked.

Monet shook her head. "Bad News. My father's contacts within the diplomatic core once told me that comprised their exclusive membership to all the powerful movers and shakers within the Europe, and not just confined to trade and politics."

"So what do they want with us?" Gideon demanded, while he wondered if this was the chance he’d been looking for a very long time, his chance to finally make good on the promise he had made to himself and to his own chanteuse, Lila Cheney. 

He had to find her and protect her in a way that for all of his strength he had not been able to since he had parted from the team at their old headquarters. 

Gideon tried to let none that show on his face. He was worried if it did, he’d never get another chance. And he had a hunch that a lot of the missing witch-breed, especially the adolescents were among the missing, there still might be hope that Lila was still alive.

"I can't really say. I do know that the goons who attacked Miss Blaire are just the hired muscle. They include among their members both Witch Breed and ordinary humans as long as they either have the money or the power to gain membership in the club; or both."

"We need to be careful is what you're saying?" Theresa concluded. 

"Very," Monet asserted.

 

******

From a distance the nominal Hellfire Club looked like nothing more than a slightly out of place expensive establishment that might have been constructed in imitation of the fine chateaus and salons of Paris and London. 

The brick-work was new, the panes of glass in the windows was thick and opaque. The oak double-doors of the main entrance shining as if freshly lacquered.

The winding driveway dotted here and there with gardener's sheds, foot and coach-men stalls, and sculpted hedge-animals might have been considered picturesque in the day-time, however in the bone-colored light of a waxing new moon it just looked creepy.

"Do you think the eyes follow you wherever you go?" Layla inquired idly, as she traced the outlines in the air with her own fingers.

"Who cares?" Alison remarked, besides, Look on the bright side, guys, at last it these topiary critters will provide us some cover."

"It's too bad we couldn't get someone on the inside to scout out the place," Jamie remarked.

"I'd do a wide-sweep scan," Monet offered," but I figure it might give our presence away."

"That's if whoever we're up against has the ability to detect mind-scans," Theresa said.

"Maybe we're just revving us up for nothing. Maybe these guys are not as tough as we think they are. Maybe it's all a bunch of smoke and mirrors," Jamie added, trying to convince the others of this, as well as himself; and not succeeding in accomplishing much on other either front.

"Hey, what's this?"Julian asked.

"Looks like the statue of a horse," Theresa Cassidy replied.

"Yeah, but Madre de Dios, I could have sworn I saw it's head swiveled around to look at us. As if it wanted to know who were and now it does," Julian remarked.

"Perhaps it's mechanical, or some kind of new-dangled lawn ornament,"opined Madrox.

"Or it could be our enemies idea of a perimeter alarm or early warning system," offered Shatterstar, "however, if that is is the case why they chose to go with a mechanical equine is puzzling."

"Have you ever been here, Miss Blaire?" Theresa asked.

"No, no, I don't think so, but it's possible Lila has, but as much as try to remember it all turns into a lump of soft clay in my mind. As if the memory of this place had been deliberately scooped out."

"M, what do you think?" Theresa asked.

Monet St. Croix shrugged and considered the question before she replied: "I think we should be on the look-out for at least another adept in mind-reading and mind-altering, or perhaps more than one."

"What a cheery thought," Lionel remarked, as he fingered the hilts of the knifes nestled within his weapons bandolier; not because he was nervous, but because he wanted to make sure he could easily acquire them when the situation demanded it. "Then let's go."

Jame Madrox turned over something he had been wondering for a while now: "Other than the group that arrived in Virginia Commonwealth early on this century, I would have assumed we were the only Witch Breed in the New World." 

"If you were operating under that assumption, James Madrox, now would be the time to let it go,"Layla replied.

"Okay, but not all in a clump," Madrox replied.

'Perhaps we should have dressed-up, we could then have waltzed in claiming that we wished to audition for membership in the club," Monet remarked.

"That's a brilliant idea, Monet, for you, but what would the rest of us wear?"

As she strode forward, her shoulders squared and with her hands busy twisting her long black hair in a tight bun atop of her head, Monet replied, "I have a few ideas but alas our current budget does not permit."

As the rest went forward in groups of twos and threes, Alison with Lionel by her side, she sidled over to Madrox and whispered. "I suddenly remembered something..."

"What?"

Alison replied: "There's a service entrance on the left side of the building, that's where they were talking about bringing in 'another package' which those goons who jumped me at the tavern mentioned they were taking another' package."

"Package?" Lionel echoed in a hushed whisper.

"Another captive, most likely," said Theresa grimly. "Where's this service entrance?"

Gideon suddenly tore away from the others and hastened to left side of the club, the noise of his hasty passage sending a flight of starlings up from the hedges and into the sky with an irritated squawking. It also knocked over a state resembling a small basilisk off of its plinth.

"This statue didn't move until the big guy knocked it over," Julian observed.

Layla shrugged, "Sometimes a statue is just a statue."

A short while later they found what they were looking for; a small wooden door marked "Servants Only".

"Bingo!" Gideon shouted exuberantly.

"Good Lord, Man, Keep your voice down," Theresa cautioned.

"Okay, okay," Gideon replied, trying to guffaw of their resident sonic screamer telling him to keep his voice down.

"I don't care as long as finally have someone to fight," Shatterstar said, who up until now had been the quietest member of the team.

"Be careful what you wish for, my friend," Julian replied. "You just might get it."

"Julian?" Layla questioned. 

"What?" 

"You stop that, this instant! Or so help me, I will bosh you on the head and you can sit out this whole raid. Cryptic remarks are my department," said Layla mildly.

"Madre de Dios!" Julian sighed. 

Then they opened the door and entered the club.

**  
What greeted them where a mass of Hellfire guards all dressed alike in head-to to red and purple body-suits, and masks that would not have been out of place in English passion play; masks that had been filed down to a bare silver and were white as ivory.

"They couldn't have known we were coming, could they?" Lionel asked.

"Who knows? There's for it. We'll just have to get past them," Jamie replied.

"Easier said than done, Alison added.

"Someone to fight!" Shatterstar remarked eagerly.

"Yes, well," Monet remarked and strode forward. "It's tight in here. So just watch where you're swinging those swords of yours."

Shatterstar glanced at here and shrugged, "Very well."

Monet wondered if they really were made of ivory and if so if some wealthy European hunter had acquired/traded in the illegal ivory trade, and just how many African elephants had suffered for it.  
Monet had expensive taste, in fact, she had grown up in well-to do family, and even as she grabbed at the guards and knocked heads together, reining in her super-strength to render them unconscious but not unduly hurt, she realized that masks really were ivory.

She gritted her teeth and vowed to herself that if she had no other reason to be here, she would see that the Hellfire Club got a little of their own medicine back. Not to mention, she had not forgotten the last little visit these goons had paid them. 

"Shall we dance?" Monet asked studily causal, or shall I break some heads?" whichever comes first. I really am not picky at all. " Her studied threat in dire contrast to her pleasant tone and relaxed composure.

The goons rushed them almost resembling an insects trapped in the neck of a bottle in their haste to reach the intruders.

"We need to take at least a few of these guys out of the equation," Theresa remarked, "At the rev least it will gives more room to fight!"

Jamie nodded, "Agreed. "Theresa, take out the dozen goons on the left,...."

Theresa nodded in acknowledgment and told her teammates to stand back and cover their ears, before letting loose a long echoing wail that would have done her father, Sean Cassidy proud. It echoed and echoed in the wide long and dimly-lit ante-chamber of the building: 

The sonic scream bounced off the walls, shattered the glass-ware on an end-table and in the frames of the portraits on the walls; it also left almost two dozen of the attackers on the floor, their weapons dropped from nerveless fingers as they crouched on the ground, groaning from the assault on their hearing. 

"That got their attention," Julian remarked with a wicked glint in his eye.

"Good job, Theresa," Jamie said.

"Thanks," she replied.

"You're up, Shatterstar," Madrox added. "And remember people, we're the good guys, so try not to unduly hurt anyone."

"Unless," Shatterstar began but then subsided at Madrox's cut-it-out gesture.

Lionel who had said he was considering taking on the stage name, "Longshot" at Miss Blaire's suggestion, had now drawn his wickedly sharp knives. "What's he's trying to say, they be may many but we shall prevail!"

"Gideon!" where are the hell do you think you're going? Stay with the group! Madrox yelled over the noise of several pitched fights.

To his left Alison was facing down five armed guards, when they got too close for comfort she kicked out like a horse and they drew back. 

Just then a faint luminescent gathered about her, growing steadily larger and larger and the before anyone realized it she had lest lose with a blaze of multicolored sphere of light from her finger-tips. When it hit, the weapons they'd been holding disintegrated.

Grunts, yells, shuffling of booted feet and the slick of sharp blade weapons sending up their own muffling tinny counterpoint, but these and many other sundry sounds had their own source from his teammates. 

The guards had reacted from Theresa's sonic scream. "Has anyone noticed how odds these fellows are?"

"Ah, no," Julian remarked.

He grabbed one and placed one of his knifes braced against the guard's throat, using his free hand to keep the man from slumping to the ground, using the tip of the throwing knife to lift the mask to reveal the face underneath. "As if they're automatons."

"Oh, come on, no one practices steam-punk anymore. That went out style back in London with Queen Victoria," Monet stated, as she lifted the mask of another guard to check herself.

Both faces and the faces of other subdued guards were all eerily similar.

"Okay, that's strange, but let's get rid of these guys and keep going," Theresa added.

Jamie turned to take count of his team and how they were doing when he realized that Gideon Carosella was no longer there. 

When they found the big man Gideon had rolled through the guards like a giant human bowling ball and then gone up the corridor and through to the main building. “Stay with the group, Gideon!”

"You stay with the effing group, Madrox. The only reason I came here is to find Lila Cheney. I'm outta here!" Gideon yelled back, and with that he was gone.

Jamie stomped his foot, "Great, just great. Keep going, and even if had I no other reason to go after these creeps, I'm adding 'this,' He waved his arms around at their surroundings and at the unconscious goons lying on the floor, "to the list."

Layla nodded and Theresa and Monet had a grim look on their faces as well.

When they reached a door leading out of the corridor they found it broken into smithereens littering the floor. "Well, at least Gideon already broke it open for us," Jamie remarked.

Even as they went through a rumble went through the floor they stood upon, "Julian is this your doing?" Shatterstar asked.

"Nope," Julian replied.

Walls rose up, the floor went down and suddenly they were falling down, down to the sub-level of the building. It smelt like dead fish and stagnant water, and long untended infrastructure. The water the had filled the sub-level came up to the knees of Layla and Julian, who were shorter than the rest, and up to the shins on the taller ones.

"Adding this to list as well, oh fearless leader?" Theresa asked archly, rocking back on her heels and finger-combing through her long red locks. She wrinkled her nose, and grimaced.

There were a handful of fitfully burning torches in a sconces bolted to the walls which gave just enough light, but it was still creepy as hell.

"You know it," Jamie replied with all the confidence he could muster, rolling up his sleeves. 

"What do we do now?" Alison asked, trying not to let on just how nervous she was becoming.

"All right, Theresa since you and Monet can fly, grab Layla and Me, and get us back up to the main level."

"What about the rest of us?" Julian asked.

"We'll have to split up. Julian and Shatterstar, in one group, Lionel and Alison in other."

"Are you certain that's a wise decision?" Theresa asked.

"No, no. Not really, but at least this way we'll cover more ground," Jamie answered. "I do not know about the rest of you but the sooner we find out what these bastards are up to and were they’re holding their prisoner and/or prisoners, the better! Let's go!"

Monet nodded, "Agreed."

***

Meanwhile, Julian and Shatterstar had made their way up from the sub-level of the club into the main sections of the building.  
"What the hell is that thing?" Julian exclaimed, scanning the contents of the strange room in which they found themselves in. For some reason this spartan barely there room ensconced among the almost decadent luxury of the other rooms in the club they had traversed was very disconcerting.  
The walls were bare plaster, all of the benches, clutter on the tables, chairs and cabinets had been clustered towards the center of the room and if he squinted hard enough he could faintly make out the chalk etchings of unfamiliar symbols on slate boards and on the far wall.  
However, it was an a while before he noticed that there was a bell jar hanging from the ceiling of the room.  
"What thing?" Shatterstar replied, taking note of all the available exits and entrances from the room in which they found themselves.  
"That thing hanging from the ceiling is what I'm referring to, Star."  
"Oh, I see it now," Shatterstar replied.  
"A canary cage?"Julian opined.  
"Awfully large for a canary," Shatterstar remarked.  
"Is someone there?” a hesitant decidedly feminine voice asked in a lilting heavily-accented anxious tone which neither of them could readily identify right away.

"Who said that?" Julian demanded.

"I did. Up here!" the voice replied.

"Are you in the cage?" Shatterstar asked.

"Yes, Oh, Yes, please let me outta here before 'He' comes back!"

"He?"

"Donald Pierce, he is gonna do awful things to me."

Shatterstar nodded and leaped up, sending the cage swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

"Um, Star, if you're planning to cut through the cable that comes down from the ceiling and keeps the cage in place you might want to.."

"I cut, you keep us from hitting the ground. Yes?"

Julian sighed. "Okay,” he sighed and then, putting the suggestion into practice. As it was the cage still hit the ground with a heart-stopping thud; the impact breaking open the bars on the cell.

The girl within could have been no more than thirteen maybe fourteen and she looked disheveled but defiant; Julian liked that and went over to check on her.

"You gonna be okay, chica?"

"I, ah, I think so," she replied.

"I'm Julian, that's Shatterstar, and we're uh, here to help."

"Rahne Sinclair, uh, I mean, that's me."

"Can you tell us what happened or why they were keeping you locked up in here?" 

"It's a might of a long story," she blushed. "But me legal guardian Reverend Craig sent me to the care of the Hellfire Club, so as could be a proper educated young lady."

"That's no so bad, I guess."

"Ah, but there’s more as he never saw fit to tell me. That was just pretense. He really was helping to further their ambitions both here and back home in Europe."

"And you found out about it?" Shatterstar asked.

"I suppose so," she shrugged and shuffled her feet on the ground. "Ah'm almost cannae admit this last, but the Reverend was of the cast of the old school preacher; he was always lecturing me on how on how ah was the Devil's Get."

"Why did he ever think that?" Julian asked.

"Cause of me Witch Breed power," Rahne answered. "I'm what you would call a shape-shifter. I, ah, I can't always control it, and ah'm afraid I might hurt someone."

"We would not want you,,," Shatterstar began, and then trailed off. "Please, demonstrate, if you would."

"Okay, she replied, blushing almost a shade as dark as her red hair, and heaving a deep sigh her pixie-like features melted away and her ears became as pointed as those of a fox or a wolf, and before either of the men could register the change; before their eyes stood a medium-sized reddish-brown wolf.

"Lobo, es incredible, chica!" Julian exclaimed, forgetting in his excitement that he had lapsed back into his native language. "Sorry, that is amazing."

"Hmm," Shatterstar mused. "Now, that I think upon it, I believe I have heard of such things."

And in the another handful of heartbeats the wolf had turned back into a petite red-haired girl, "Ye have," she asked breathlessly, daring to hope that she was not as alone as she believed herself to be.

"Yes, before I joined up with Julian and his comrades, I once worked as a mercenary during which time I spent scouting in Gascony. I heard tell of lyncanthropes," replied Shatterstar.

"Do tell," Rahne coaxed.

"Some believe them to be just a myth; just stories, but they too had the ability to shift from human to wolf and back," continued Shatterstar.

"I thought I was a singular freak." "I heard it so much and so often I started to believe I was doomed to fire and damnation," Rahne replied with more than a little heat.

"Not if I can help it!" Julian vowed. "We're taking her with us, right?"

"I concur!" Shatterstar echoed.

*****  
Elsewhere in the Club; Madrox had come to the sobering conclusion that penetrating into the interior of the club might become easier than trying to get out again. That kind of assumption could easily lead his team into a false sense of confidence. Following on the hells of that thought he also realized that it was a little late to regret not finding a way to stay in contact if they became separated.

Barring that, regroup. He had just opened his mouth to say as much when he collided with a man in a coat and doublet. The impact caused one of his duplicates to pop out.  
"Uhm, In case, you aren't good at arithmetic, I would like to point out that you are out-numbered here, fellow."

Jamie took several steps back as if contact with the man had burned him or he had spat venom; all he'd really done was look at them in funny not but not quite threatening manner. If he had been pressed to describe the man's expression it would have to be almost sardonic.

"Oh, I know," the stranger replied. "Where are my manners? You will really should know the man who will be instrumental in your inevitable demise."

"Who are you?" Layla demanded.

"Patience, my dear," the man replied, with an elaborate bow. "I am Jason Wyngarde."

 

Then Wyngarde pulled out a horse-headed cane from out thin air and before anyone could blink or assess whether this man posed a threat; the air around them coalesced into a palpable force. 

Jason concentrated; for years, he had never wavered in his belief in himself or his power; it had outlasted even his father’s over-bearing manner and his mother’s leaving. It was his power to affect reality in his immediate vicinity and the perception of that reality in others that given what he had always wanted; influence and respect.

He had never used it on so many targets before but he had no reason not to believe that he could do so.  
It was as if the walls were closing in on them and it was all of the air, ground, everything had disappeared.

One moment reality was as solid as the air they breathed; the pile of the carpet beneath their feet, the walls began to melt away like they were made of hot wax instead of hard wood. 

Jamie was gasping for air, frantically rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, forcing himself to hold on to what he knew to be reality; but it stubbornly refused to cooperate.

When he could see again he stood in his office and outside he could see one of his dupes sitting in his chair wearing the black suit with a white cleric’s collar sitting in his chair behind his desk with the air of a man who had a secret to chair but could not or would not voice it. He held a finger up to his throat and whispered. “This too shall pass.” 

Madrox grabbed Layla and held on to her for dear life. For her part Layla felt as if she was burning and freezing at the same time; it was a distinctly unpleasant sensation.

Layla glanced around, desperate and angry that she had not anticipated this eventuality: While she had anticipated and even warned her teammates that the Inner Circle posed a threat, but how did one fight something that one could not hit, blast and or/touch? She grasped on to Jamie's arm, determined that she would not be separated from him.

"What's happening?" Theresa demanded, losing her balance and falling to the floor her hands clutching at her throat as she gasped desperately for air that was no longer there. Then, the room, her friends, they all vanished and she found herself standing alone on the cliffs of her ancestral keep with the angry North Sea pounding away beneath her. 

Her dad joined her suddenly and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "You're stronger than this, Terry, me girl. Don't let me down. Promise me."

"I promise." And with a deep breath Theresa was once more back with the others, and she was mad as Hell. "Boyo, you are in for a world of hurt if you don't put a cork in right whatever it is you're doing!"

 

Wyngarde was momentarily startled by this, but chose to concentrate on tho others: perhaps, just perhaps he had under-estimated these losers or he might have over-played his hand.

Monet went over to Theresa and stated. “Get in line. I want a piece of him first.” She had come to the realization, even as the room spun dizzyingly around her, that Wyndgarde; while a talented psionic relied heavily on illusions.

Meanwhile Lionel and Alison had their own troubles; Lionel was frozen, and Alison was unconscious. 

Monet realized as she glanced around, that Theresa had hit onto something key, whether or not she realized it or not. and his victims susceptibility to the same. She was about to say as much when a semi-conscious Alison crashed into her.

"Watch we're you're going!" Monet admonished.

"What am I to do?" Lionel muttered under his breath.

"I have several suggestions," Monet griped.

"You could die?" Wyngarde suggested pleasantly.

"Not tonight," Theresa yelled and signed to her friends to cover their ears, which they did, and then she let loose with a sonic scream.

Wyngarde toppled over and his illusion fell apart in a million flinders of solid pieces of sound and light. He collapsed to the floor his hands clasped around his now bloody nose. "Damn their Eyes!" He turned and ran from the room, turning the a horse figurine on a hearth mantle a turn and vanishing through it.

"Everyone okay?" Jamie asked. "Sound off!"

"I'm fine," Layla replied.

"Same goes for me, but I'm really steamed," Theresa added.

"Everything's pickety boo," Monet replied with a shrug of her supple shoulders. 

"I as well, but I can't wake Alison up," Lionel said.

"Bring her along, and follow that guy, I think we are finally getting to the heart of the matter!" Jamie ordered. I just hope the others are doing better than we are!"

"I think they are," Layla answered. "

"I hope so," Jamie shouted. "Because I'll be damned if I lose anymore teammates!" Let's go!"

*****

"Welcome," Sebastian Shaw greeted as the team burst through in a rush, stumbling a bit and blinking from the dazzle of the chamber that was awash in candles, hearths. "It certainly took you long enough to get there."

“We’ve been expecting you,” added a man who held his hands behind his back and wore a smug smile on his narrow lips.

“Have you, now?” Theresa muttered under her breath

"You bastards!" Jamie yelled.

"Now, now," Shaw replied as he was joined by a woman all in white wearing an outfit that left very little to the imagination.

To his left was a large burly man with the clever piggy eyes and the red-shot eyes of a veteran drinker, and to just joining them was a blonde man who kept rubbing his hands together as if they itched.

"I warned you that Wyngarde wasn't up to the task," the blond woman stated.

"Not now, Emma," Shaw said.

"I don't know or care what kind of sick game you're playing here, and frankly I don't care," Jamie said. "I just want my friends, and then we walk away from here."

"Oh, it is much more than a game, but oh, I see you managed to find your way here! Sebastian Shaw waved his arms around at the opulent parlor as if he was showing them off to them. “That shows you have potential, stamina and determination all qualities that our Club look for in new recruits." Shaw replied. 

“May I remind you that your guards tried to kill us?” Jamie stated.

“That first time, I have to admit, well a lot of mistakes and misunderstandings were made that hampered the success of the mission,” Shaw replied.

“So, now what?” Jamie demanded.

Layla placed her hand on his arm and whispered “Jamie, don’t trust Shaw. He’s power-hungry, ruthless and ambitious; and once he’s got you he’ll twist you all up inside to suit whatever the end game is.”

“I concur with Miss Miller,” M stated.

“I can’t quite ‘see’ or know what the end game is, just that it won’t end well for all of us,” Layla added.

Shaw turned to where Lionel stood supporting Alison Blaire. “Oh, I had wondered where she had gotten to.” He shrugged, adding in a pleasant conversational tone: "It really is too bad that she is not awake to appreciate your demise."

“There’s one thing I do not understand...” Lionel began.

“One thing?” Layla muttered.  
“Do you wish to recruit us or kill us?”

“A little of both, actually. I had hoped to test you, test the nature of your powers and see how well they would line up with the goals and shall we say, tenor of the Hellfire Club.”

“How did we do?” Lionel asked.

“Rather well. However, it would appear that you are, to varying degrees hampered by an irritating moral compass, which means…

Donald Pierce interrupted. “Damn it! It means, can we get to killing them yet!”

“Have at it!” Shaw ordered.

 

Pierce approached Theresa and flexing his hand, the needle-thin poison darts emerging from their bronze casing with a pneumatic hiss, a death-head’s grin on his lips. “I always did like red heads.”

“Theresa smiled. “Much obliged. You have the advantage of me, Sir,” she purred.

He bowed and “Donald Pierce.”

“Well, Mr. Pierce, I have news for you.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes. Come closer. Closer.” With that Theresa let out an ear-piercing sonic shriek that reverberated around the room, the impact of which sent Pierce flying backwards crashing into Leland and sending them both tumbling to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs. Pierce’s artificial hand split into three pieces.

Not waiting for them to sort things out, she turned and let another shriek, 

“Hey, Theresa, try not to bring the house down on us,” Jamie yelled to be heard over the sound of Theresa’s power bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

“Haha! Very funny,” Theresa replied.

“As usual, if you want something done right around here; you have to do it yourself,” Emma muttered, but before she could she was pinned down by several of Jamie’s duplicates. “Don’t try anything.”

Lionel carefully lay Alison down in order to free his hands and drew his knifes from the bandolier strapped around his waist.

"M, the big guy is all yours," Jamie said.

"About time," Monet replied.

"Why aren't you even breathing hard? M griped, all the while launching hammering blows against the smug, tall man.  
"Hit me with everything you have, my dear." He smirked, "It makes so much easier to hit you back even harder than you ever imagined!" 

"Well, then," M sighed as she drew back a few paces to assess the situation.

"He bowed as he said this. "I am Sebastian Shaw and no matter how hard you hit or how powerful you are, my power is to absorb it and increase it ten-fold, or more."

"You're not sure? or are you just trying to impress me?" she asked.

"A little of both, to be honest. I've never really had the opportunity to test the upwards limits of my power. You might have the chance to be the first."

Monet scoffed. "Thanks, but no thanks. All I really need to do is keep you busy."

"What?" Shaw questioned.

"You'll see." Monet smirked. "And besides I don't want to see how strong you are. I just want to remove you from the equation. With that she used her super strength and throw at the far wall where he crashed through and landed in a room where several club members where busy sipping gin and playing a game of cards.

Seeing that Shaw was more or less taken care off Monet looked down and saw a large gaping hole in the floor. Taking a closer look she saw two a very dusty and disheveled Julian Richter and Shatterstar up out of the hole, along with a petite red-headed girl.

"Where did they come from?" Pierce demanded, having managed to disentangle himself from Harry Leland and was tinkering with his broken artificial hand and wondering if he modify it so it could make it better than ever, functional and detachable whenever the need arose.

"How should I know?" Emma exclaimed. "Well, somebody do something about it, before everything goes pear-shaped!"

"Figures that Shaw's over-confidence would leave me holding the bag," remarked Harry Leland, applying his own ability to affect the newly accepted theory of universal gravity.

"Bloody hell!" Theresa exclaimed. "Oh, they're back. Great to see you again. Who's this?"  
"Yes, great, but can we spare the formal introductions for later?" Layla griped.  
"We're sinking into the floor!" Lionel exclaimed. 

"I noticed!" Madrox shouted back. Oh, Good God! Not again!"

"I've got….” Julian gasped, "an idea."

"Well, If you've got an idea, why don't you share it with the rest of the class, Mr. Richter," Layla suggested.

"The big guy is increasing the gravity around us, but let's see what happens when he literally doesn’t have ground to stand on!" With that Julian let loose with his own power which created a wide crater in the floor, and made the walls shake with a localized earth tremor.

"Why does this remind of how we came in!" Jamie griped.

"Stop complaining! I'm trying to concentrate!" Julian shouted back.

"What are you talking about?"

"Keep it up!" Layla shouted.

"I know, I know!" Julian yelled back as he sent wave after wave of seismic vibrations from his hands a green glow flickering around his bunched fist causing Harry Leland to sink lower and lower until he was lost from view into the hole in the floor.

“Shaw, we both know that there won’t be any clear winner in this,” Jamie shouted to be heard. “Why not call it draw and let us go!”

Meanwhile Donald Pierce had regained consciousness only to discover three blades at his throat and chest with Lionel and Shatterstar standing over him. “Greetings. Is this not where we entered?” Shatterstar drawled.

Pierce gritted his teeth and glared.

Shaw spit out a tooth and gingerly probed his flank in the manner of one testing for broken ribs. He also did a rapid head count and realized that Leland was stuck in the hole in the floor, Emma had darted through a secret partrtion in the wall, and Wyngarde was nowhere to be seen. Pierce was looking bruised bloody and disoriented and rubbing at a narrow cut on his neck.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Mr. Madrox, you have a point.” He glanced around and gestured to Pierce drawing out each word as if he was drawing them with each inhale and exhale. “You are free to go. Pierce, show our ‘guests’ out. “

“Are you bloody kidding me!” Pierce exclaimed and scrambled out of range of Shatterstar’s swords, pausing to shoot one last angry glare at the tall red-head.

“Nothing more will be gained by continuing the fight. Just know that while you may think you’ve won this fight you have not won the battle,” Shaw concluded.

‘Great, great. Good to know. Now how the hell do we get out of here,” Madrox muttered as his dupes clustered around him; soon joined by the rest of the team.

With Pierce reluctantly leading the way they were led through the winding corridors out of the wreckage of the parlor and through the front door of the club. 

“You heard, Shaw. If we ever see each other again...”

Monet turned to him. “We got the message, dear boy. Just to be clear, do not underestimate us again.”

“Get the hell out of here!” Pierce exclaimed.

“Do not have to tell us twice. Let’s go home,” Madrox said.  
****

****  
The following morning at the Hellfire Club

"Well, that was fun," Donald Pierce remarked from where his seat in a richly appointed chair, sipping his wine and with his long legs resting on a zebra-striped ottoman.

"If you had allowed me to do things my way from the start," Emma languidly remarked turning to face Sebastian Shaw, "None of this would have ever happened."

"It was hardly my fault that I was distracted by the red-head..." Jason Wyngarde said holding a silk kerchief to his bleeding nose. 

"Was it her powers that you were distracted by or her beauty?" Harry Leland remarked with a smirk.

Wyngarde having downed almost an entire carafe of wine had gone deaf to innuendo some time ago. The sonic scream had not helped his hearing at all either.

"Harry, dear," Emma remarked, "Need I remind you that they found a way to turn your own powers against you."

"Watch it, Emma!" Harry Leland snapped. "And besides, Pierce, I did not see you contribute much of anything.”

"I was otherwise engaged in the lab," Pierce replied.

"Lady and gentlemen," interjected Sebastian Shaw his voice quiet but at the same time full of a whip-crack precision of a mule drover. "This bickering will accomplish nothing."

"Shaw's right," Emma added.

"You would, you harlot," Pierce snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma demanded.

"Enough!" Shaw yelled. 

"What he means, gentlemen, is that we may have suffered a set-back, but that's all it is."

Shaw nodded, "The next time we meet up with our 'guests', and make no mistake there will be a next time; we will be ready for them."  
***

Conclusion

Back at the X-Factor HQ

"When did you realize we were all trapped in some bizarre illusion?" Layla asked.

"When? Jamie cried, bunching his hands into fists. "Oh, I don't know when the world was quite literally spinning around and we were all trapped in some kind of waking nightmare!"

"Actually," Monet added, I would liken it more to a Moebius Strip."

"Whatever!" 

"I, for one," Theresa added, "am just glad it's over."

"Me, too," Julian said with feeling, startling a bit when Shatterstar came up and placed a big possessive hand on his upper arm. "I, three."

 

"That's not how it works, but I appreciate the sentiment, Star," Jamie replied. "Let us go while we can. Wait, a quick head-count, there's Lionel, and Alison; who's this?"

"Rahne Sinclair, Sir," the petite red-head replied.

"She's okay, Madrox," Julian stated.

"What are you going to do now, Alison?" asked Layla.

"You could stay with us," Lionel offered.

"I appreciate the offer, Madrox, but I think it's not to be. Besides, I think you've already got one volunteer over there. Hey, how you holding up, Miss Sinclair?"

"Just fine," Rahne replied cheerfully, sipping a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream covering her upper lip.

"Chipper lass, but she's got potential," Theresa added, drumming her finger on the front of her slacks.

"Definitely has spunk. I can vouch for that,"Julian added encouragingly.

"Rahne, it's up to you, but you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like," Jamie offered.

"I think I shall, but what are you going to do, Alison?" Rahne asked.

"It's nothing concrete. yet, but what I want to do, no; what I need to do is make get back out there and make certain that no one else, witch-breed or ordinary human ever falls prey to Inner Circle again."  
I never found Lila, either, so I'm gonna keep looking for her," Gideon chimed in.

"I think we all need to be a little more careful. Any ideas on how to do that?" Madrox asked of everyone in the room.

"Not a bloody clue," Theresa added, but we do know that in addition to their powers, they've got resources and ambitions that appear to go beyond meddling with Witch Breed.”

"Two very dangerous combinations. Aside from that, I wish we knew more about what their long-term plans are," Monet added. "We know for a fact that they've got at least two psionic talents and the rest of them are no slouches either."

"Agreed," Lionel added.

"Uhm, Okay, but we'll discuss that later. Where's Gideon?" Madrox asked.

"The last I saw of him he was charging off to find that Lila Cheney woman. No one saw him since then?" Layla asked.

Everyone else simply shook their heads.

"Well, wherever he is I just hope he's all right.”

"Well, I guess it's getting late," Jamie sighed. "Everyone, get what sleep you can; tomorrow will have to take care of itself."  
There were a chorus of good night all around and the team with their new additions as everyone went up to the upper story to get what sleep they could.  
Once everyone else had gone up to the second floor and their rooms  
Jamie went over to Layla and picked her up and carried her up to their room as well. "Still got that 'itch,’ Madrox?” she asked, arching one blonde eyebrow.  
"Not anymore," he replied. "But I've got a few other ideas."  
Layla smiled. "Okay, then."


End file.
